fiction
Horror fiction that delivers on its promise to scare, startle, frighten and unsettle. These stories are fake, but the shivers down your spine won't be.
After Dusk
The wolves always howled late into the night, along with the metallic screeching of wayward trains, carrying their cargo out west. The trains always moved a little faster, with a bit more conviction around these parts, for reasons that were entirely known to the locals. The closest railroads were actually quite far, but the trains still whistled as loudly as if they were right next to your ear. There weren't too many outsiders that came to visit the valley, and those who did never took a good word back to their kin. Some of them didn't go back at all. Some settled into the countryside for one reason or another, and sometimes it was not by choice. Regardless, anyone who stepped foot into the town down by the river left knowing all about the plagues of the people who seemingly thrived in the area.
By Emily Dheel7 years ago in Horror
Rope
Jay was a normal kid. An absolutely, completely normal kid. I'm not sure why that happened... but I do know, the day we learned that Jay Martin was found strung up in a fucking oak tree in the park, the entire neighborhood wept. Jay made average grades, played trumpet in the band, and had average looks—absolutely nothing about him was special. Nothing really made him a target. He was just a genuinely nice kid.
By Emily Dheel7 years ago in Horror
A Benevolent Touch
James Price had been a very naughty man up until karma had finally taken it upon itself to collect. He'd spent most of his days working at a minimum wage job, which barely left him with enough money to pay his bills, and at night, that's where his desperation tested his self-control. He tried to tame his criminal nature, tried to progress more than society allowed him to for someone of his skin color. But it seemed everything around him, from the dirty dishes in his sink, to the eviction notices on his door were just reminders of the ropes tied around his wrists and feet keeping him from doing better than he'd ultimately been taught.
By Sharlene Alba7 years ago in Horror
You Are What You Eat
Have you ever had a wet dream about pork sausage links or bacon-wrapped meatloaf? If so you might be like our stud Chuck Mcdonald. He is a lovely man who's dating profile says, “Country man with salt-pepper hair. Tall, dark, handsome, and weighing in at six hundred pounds.” Chuck lives at home with his mother and together they own and run a pig farm. To be honest, you can’t tell the two animals apart. His addiction isn’t heroin or any drug like that, but grease, it was his aphrodisiac. Chuck is not a jolly Saint Nick, instead he is a bitter man just looking for his next meal, who can make anyone lose their appetite and puts a new definition to the phrase, “You are what you eat.”
By Sara Kenney7 years ago in Horror
How Did You Know?
"How did you know?" I asked not sure I wanted the answer. I thought I had been careful. I thought she was asleep. She was usually asleep by this time. However, it's been six months, her habits could have changed. She was just sitting there in the dark. It felt like she was waiting for me. Her face was expressionless like she was looking at a ghost. Although in a sense to her, I was. I asked again, "How did you know?"
By Brittney St James7 years ago in Horror
Emily
The most beautiful smile I ever saw was the morning of Janelle's graduation. She was finally going to go to school with the big kids. See Janelle was about to turn 6 and will be starting grade 1 in the fall. She was wearing her 'fancy' dress; a beautiful, sea-foam-blue that bellows when you twirl; and her 'good' shoes; black Mary-Jane’s. Those are the ones we save for special occasions. Janelle was my little sister and we always played tea together whenever we found the time. This morning; however, we did not have the time.
By Nicole Cormier7 years ago in Horror
Independence (Part 1)
Distant thunder and the gentle tapping of rain on the abandoned cars that littered the streets of Independence, Missouri echoed through the once busy city. The only other sounds are that of the infected. Wild, vicious shrieking can be heard 24 hours a day, however unseen in daylight hours, most likely wandering beneath the streets. Though at night, we try our hardest not to listen. At night, they roam freely, in stumbling herds of at least 20. Their senses somehow much stronger than ours, they can hear the slightest of noises, smell the weakest of odors. Sleeping at night, or at all, is an activity of the past. The infected smear their bodies on every surface, searching for another host to pass the virus onto. We live in constant worry that our basement fortifications won't be enough, though we've lived through these last two months down here since the initial outbreak. In the stairwell leading into the basement where we reside is piles and piles of boxes, miscellaneous furniture, and anything we could find in the basement to clog up the way down to us, which has worked thus far. All windows have been painted black and boarded up, the only way in or out is through our steel basement door that we lock down as tight as we possibly can anytime I leave or come back from my weekly supply run.
By D. M. Bingham7 years ago in Horror
Old St. Nick
“Thanks for letting me crash your Christmas Eve Party. Nice house you have,” I sat on the couch across from the hosts of the party and was on my third or fourth eggnog. It was ten-thirty at night and the other partygoers were long gone by this point. The same cheerful Christmas songs played over and over again.
By Sara Kenney7 years ago in Horror
